


Need

by sidewinder



Category: Brimstone
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-13
Updated: 2012-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>For fifteen years all I had was misery. In contrast, a little fantasy goes a long way.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Need

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is written entirely for fun and not for any profit. No attempt is made to supersede or infringe upon the copyrights held by any television or film companies upon which this story is based.

I don't need sleep. I don't need anything, except to get my job done. That doesn't mean I don't like to enjoy simple pleasures, like sleeping, when I have the chance. 'Cause every day, the thought is with me: one mistake and I'll never enjoy another meal again. The feel of sunlight on my face. A game of football with a Corona in one hand and the remote in the other.

Or the peaceful oblivion of eight hours of sleep.

Sometimes when I sleep, I even dream of Rosalyn. Sometimes the dreams are even pleasant. Those are the dreams that keep me going, that give me reason to try to earn that second chance he promises me. Even if it's a crazy fantasy to think we could ever be together again, it's one I need to hold on to.

For fifteen years all I had was misery. In contrast, a little fantasy goes a long way.

He doesn't always let me sleep. He likes to keep me on edge, never sure when he's watching...never letting me completely enjoy a moment of privacy and peace. Some nights he fills my head with nightmares, ones that pull me awake and guarantee I won't get a night's rest for days. Other times he's less subtle--just kicks me out of bed and orders me in no uncertain turns to move my ass. Then sometimes he's just fucking annoying, playing games and teasing me. Like when he fixed my alarm clock so I couldn't turn it off--couldn't even unplug it, and had to listen to that damn beep-beep-beep all night until I left the room just to stay sane.

This night I was tossing and turning through nightmares of my own creation. Since discovering the truth about Ash, her demon eyes have haunted me every night. I should have sent her back to Hell when I'd had the chance. I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to be paying for that moment of indecision for a long time. I don't look forward to running across her again.

Restless, I tossed and turned for hours before realizing at one point I was no longer alone. He was there, sitting on the edge of the bed. I hadn't heard him arrive--no thunderclap, no hint of sulphur in the air. Why he was sitting there, not even looking at me, not jumping on me to get up and get back to chasing demons, I didn't know. Something felt...wrong. He was just staring out across the room, lost in thought and apparently unaware of anything else. Probably bugged by the same thing I was--Ash. Despite his denial I was certain he'd revealed more than he'd intended about how he felt about her, how she had betrayed him. How she frightened him, though I couldn't understand how or why _he_ should be frightened by anyone.

Except God, I guess.

I watched in silence, waiting for him to explain himself, say something, anything. Finally I shifted slightly and immediately he whipped his head around to look at me. His gaze was harsh for a moment, like he was pissed I had disturbed him. Then...I don't know. Something changed. If I hadn't known him like I do, I would have said he looked-- for the first time I'd seen--vulnerable. Knowing him, I knew I had to be wrong and waited for an explanation.

"Something bothering you, Detective? Not able to indulge in your wasteful sleepytime as usual?" His taunting voice wasn't as sharp as normal. It was almost...understanding.

"Seems like I'm not the only one," I answered before I could think better of it. One of these days, I know I'll push him too far with my words. I suppose I won't stop trying until I find his limit.

He reached for my face, and for a moment I thought I had.

I expected...I don't know what--a slap, a push, heat that would burn my flesh...tortures I was used to. He touched me and I flinched, but realized I felt nothing but the press of his fingertips on my skin, light but warm. He traced the line of my jaw slowly, his gray eyes never leaving mine. "Knowing my wayward children are out there in this world...yes, it bothers me. It's a terrible thing, you know, the way they took advantage of my trust, my tender care...you'd never do such a thing to me, would you, Ezekiel?" There was a seductive lilt to his voice now. His thumb brushed across my lips. I trembled.

"No, you wouldn't," the devil continued, his fingers continuing along across my cheek. "That's why I chose you, you know. Because I know I can count on you."

"Like you could count on Ash?" I'm not a fool; I could see where this was going, what he wanted. What frightened me wasn't thinking that I might not be able to stop him. It was knowing I wasn't sure I _wanted_ him to stop.

"I was wrong to place any trust in her. It was a lesson learned and a mistake I will _not_ repeat." His eyes wandered around the room as he continued, his voice hushed, "I didn't lie to you the other night--I never loved her. I haven't needed love for a long time. But I still _need_."

His gaze turned back to meet mine, his fingers trailing down my throat. Dammit. I could feel my body responding to his touch, that seductive voice. He'd played his games with me before but never this directly, never more than a lingering leer or a touch that sent whispers of warmth through me, as sick as it left me feeling afterwards. "What do you need, Ezekiel?" he asked, voice just above a whisper. "What do you need _right now_..."

I didn't answer. I was afraid to. /You,/ I could hear myself saying if I dared open my mouth.

I think he still heard the voice in my head--my thoughts are never my own whenever he is near. He smiled and leaned closer.

And I didn't resist. His lips brushed against mine and I welcomed their warmth. Part of me screamed that I should fight him, that I could and he would leave, laughing at having found another way to torment me. But I couldn't. He moaned against my mouth, and the sound...it did something to me, inside. The dark part of me seemed thrilled that I had found some power, perhaps, over my tormentor.

He wanted me. He _needed_ me, more than as his soldier on Earth. He needed me as a lover.

I reached for his hair, tangling my hands in the long, dark strands as the kiss continued, deepening, sending tendrils of fire through my body. He broke the kiss and his breath was hot on my face, his gray eyes specked with red. "You're right, Ezekiel," he whispered into my ear, "you do so much for me, yet I never show you true gratitude. Tonight I will...tonight I'll show you things you never imagined."

I was stripped to the waist before I realized it, his hands gliding expertly across my skin. A flash and the suit he had been wearing was gone; my hand touched bare skin instead. Disorientation hit when the sensation reached my brain: not Rosalyn's skin. But the alarms subsided faster than they had when I had touched Ash, only a few nights ago...maybe someday I could be with someone and not think once of my wife, not fight that aching guilt and regret that it wasn't her.

Maybe.

I'd never done this with a man before. Never wanted to. Never knew what it felt like to caress the flesh of a body like my own, muscled and taut, lacking the softness of a woman's. His mouth swept down to kiss a spot on my collarbone, his tongue tracing out a strange pattern on the skin. His hair brushed my face--silky, the scent different from a woman's. Not like flowers or perfume...like the scent of ozone in the air after a thunderstorm. I always liked that smell. He kissed my forearm, mouth pausing over every tattoo that marked me. They seemed to respond to his touch, warming, leaving my skin tingling in his wake. God, it felt good. Would he do that to my entire body, kiss every mark? Heat built in my groin at the thought, at the feeling of his lanky body covering mine, claiming it, reminding me of his claim on my soul.

His mouth traveled up my arm, down the other, back to my chest. Slowly, methodically, until every kiss left me gasping, shuddering, begging for more. "Please..."

"Please what, Ezekiel?" he purred, sounding so very pleased with himself. Damn him.

"Don't stop..."

A muffled chuckle against my stomach. "Not even if you begged me to. I do so enjoy...taking time...to admire my handiwork...and oh my, is this for me?"

My entire body jerked as he ran his hand over the front of my pants, over my cock. He laughed again, and then finished undressing me with merciful speed. When he lowered himself and continued his kisses down my right thigh, I was gone. Lost to this terrible need he created inside me.

No, wrong. He wasn't creating this; he knew it was there and was only giving me what I wanted. Punishment, pleasure...didn't matter. One and the same. Only another demon could make me feel pain. Perhaps only another demon could make me feel pleasure as well...

His mouth covered my cock, engulfing it in wet heat. I think I screamed. Too long since I'd been touched like that. I wasn't going to last at this rate, not with every inch of my skin on fire and _him_ there, doing that to me.

He pulled back and again was laughing. "Poor Ezekiel, wired up like you haven't had a good lay in fifteen years...oh that's right, you haven't, have you?" Gray eyes flashed red as he ordered me, "Turn over."

No. Yes. I wouldn't. Didn't want that. Did I? My body responded to his command even as my mind protested. He was kissing me again, the tattoos all down my back. I clutched the sheets and sobbed as his mouth reached my ass. Tongue and fingers touched places no one had touched before, wetting me, preparing me. Preparing me for something I didn't want to think about how bad I wanted. Then his cock pressed against me, demanding access.

"Relax," he growled, then bit my shoulder. "Unless all you want is pain."

I tried; it still hurt. But I'd suffered worse. He was inside me, and I didn't care. I was being fucked by the Devil and I didn't care that it hurt and was humiliating, because it felt... **real**. The world around me was nothing but a dream but this was real--real touch, real pain...real pleasure. Heat filled me like the fires of Hell, searing my soul, my skin, but all I wanted was more. More of him inside me, more of his skin wet with sulphur-sweat pressed against mine. More of his kisses, more contact...more.

It seemed to go on for hours, and I didn't want it to end. He took me in all ways and each time it left me wanting more, even when he granted me release. My mind drifted and at the height of our final joining, I saw glimpses of things I couldn't understand, stray visions through the fires. Our mock human forms lost coherence, wavered, shifted. Looming over me, I saw his form change before my eyes; for an instant, honey-gold hair flowed over his shoulders, across a familiar face but with features softened and filled. I saw a glimpse of white-feathered wings unfurled, as he arched back, as he screamed my name.

Beautiful.

It was gone in an instant, as the echoes of his pleasure brought me across and I was left shaking, spent, exhausted. That one image stayed burned in my mind. Was it a glimpse of what he had once been, a thought shared through this twisted communion? Or was there still the heart of an angel, trapped in the devil's body after all...

His head rested on my chest, and we lay for a moment in peaceful silence. My tormentor, my owner, my only chance for salvation... Now, my lover? Not lover. There had not been love in this, just shared need. Comfort, perhaps. Still, I couldn't understand how I done it, wanted it--enjoyed it-- like this with _him_? How could I want someone I hate?

He finally stirred and rolled off me, again seeming to have heard my thoughts. "You've never hated me, Ezekiel. You hate what I do and what I am, but you're smart enough to realize that I am not the one responsible for your damnation. You hate _yourself_ for that...just as you hate God, as you should. He is the one who deems you should suffer for your one mistake borne of passion. Just as He deems I must...and mine is a suffering far worse than any human soul could ever know."

For a moment the haunted look in his eyes almost had me. "You want me to feel sympathy for you, is that it?"

"Hmph!" His eyes flashed and he smirked. "Sympathy is a useless thing. What I want is for you to do the job to which you've been assigned, and for you to do so in timely fashion!"

Back to the ever annoying taskmaster. "Yes, boss," I sighed, wincing at the thought of getting up and doing anything considering the way my body felt.

"Oh, and you say that with such _passion_ , Ezekiel!" He slapped my side and winked. "Fine. Save your passion for the next time we meet like this--just get my children back home to my loving embrace and stop dilly-dallying, got it?"

He blew me a kiss, then was gone.

'Next time...' His words echoed through my head, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wasn't sure if he'd meant that as a threat or a promise. Probably both.

What bothered me was I almost was looking forward to it.

End


End file.
